Forgiveness
by W. Morganstern
Summary: Hoenheim talks about his past. Can Edward find it in his heart to forgive his father? Contains spoilers for the end of the series.


FORGIVENESS  
a _Fullmetal Alchemist_ one-shot  
by Wimbly Morganstern 

disclaimer: _Fullmetal Alchemist_ isn't mine, nor am I making any money from the following fanwork.

SPOILER ALERT! Huge spoilers for the second season and the end of the series. This probably won't make much sense unless you've seen the series through the end. 

author's note: This doesn't take the movie into account, since I haven't seen it yet. It assumes that Edward and Alphonse are reunited on their side of the Gate.

* * *

"Brother, can I ask you something?"  
"You just did, Al."  
"I mean something important." 

"Sure."

"What happened to Father?"

* * *

Hoenheim Elric ended his days in that other world beyond the Gate. At some point. Ed knew that if he hadn't yet, he would eventually, considering the deteriorating condition of his body. Hoenheim took various medicines to stall the inevitable, to ease the pain—Ed didn't know what they were exactly. When his father explained it all to him, about those many years spent looking for a way to stop the decay in his body, Ed was unspeakably disgusted with him. The knowledge that his father had a history with Dante was bad enough. 

"I'm not at all proud of the truth, but I won't hide it from you," Hoenheim had said.

Though he was very much inclined to do so, how could Ed rightly judge the kind-eyed, seemingly mild and genteel man sitting in front of him? Ed was guilty of the same root sin as his father was: that reckless desire to bite the sun. So Ed withheld his anger and resentment as best he could. He tried to listen, to understand his father's words. After all, if viewed objectively, Hoenheim's tale was a fascinating one.

"You think I'm a beast, and perhaps you're right. I created the Philosopher's Stone four hundred years ago by sacrificing that city, and all the lives it contained. The Black Death had taken hold; those who weren't infected or dead didn't have much of a chance. I had no right to take away the lives of those who might have survived, I know, but at the time I couldn't see beyond the death. There were corpses everywhere, lining the alleys, the streets, the boulevards. Everyone I cared about had died. I thought that with the Philosopher's Stone I would be like a god, with power over the lives and souls of those I'd lost. Surely you understand the shock I received when, despite all that was sacrificed, the attempt to revive my son resulted in that damned homunculus." Hoenheim looked down, his turbulent gaze pinned carefully to the floor and away from Edward. The following silence was awkward.

"What about Dante? You said that you lost everyone you cared about, but she was still alive," said Ed, managing to sound only mildly accusatory.

Hoenheim looked up into his son's face. "I never loved Dante," he said solidly, and sighed in discomfort. "Perhaps I thought I did, but only because I tried so very hard to love her. She seemed to love me, and she was very beautiful. If you don't understand me now, surely you will some—"

"Don't patronize me!" interrupted Ed. "I understand well enough."

Hoenheim assumed a faint and knowing smile. "Someday," he continued. "We owed each other so much that we had a powerful bond, but it wasn't love. It wasn't long after I created the Stone that I realized how completely I disliked her. Decadence—greed, lust, pride and all the other vices that she happily raised up as her mascots—never grew old for her. Instead gaining wisdom over the years, she grew to be the greatest fool of the age. Except for myself, of course. I was the one foolish enough to believe that my long life had taught me wisdom when all it really taught me was complacency."

"And thirteen years absent from the family you claim you loved is just 'complacency'?" Ed shouted. Hoenheim had really asked for it. You can't just delicately skim over something that has had a deep impact on your audience.

"It was selfish of me not to look at it more closely from your perspective. Thirteen years didn't seem very long to me, and I was entirely focused on a goal that took up every ounce of space in my heart. I had convinced myself that it was all for Trisha, because God knows she deserved better than this. I couldn't tell her that my body was beginning to decay, to rot even as I moved and breathed and still loved her passionately; at least, not until I'd done everything I could to fix things. I traveled very far—places as far distant as Xing and Afallon. After nearly thirteen years I finally discovered the hopeless truth. The gods are masters of irony, they say. Just when you think you've found the key to Paradise—"

"—it unlocks the gate to Hell," Ed interrupted again.

"I don't expect you to forgive me for anything I've done. I can provide only the most meager, selfish excuses for abandoning you, your brother and your mother. But I am sorry, more sorry than I can say."

Only a year ago, Ed would never in his wildest dreams have imagined forgiving his father. He'd certainly never played this scenario through his mind. There they were, sitting in a rather stuffy apartment in some alternate-reality city called "London," talking about his father's dark fairytale past and, what? Reconciling? Ed tried to hate his father, as he had thoroughly done for nearly eleven years, but now he failed. When he looked at Hoenheim, he saw but one of his own faces, and all his own sins. _Have I really conquered them?_ Ed wondered.

"I forgive you," whispered Ed, purposeful and sincere.

Hoenheim looked surprised for a moment, then he did something Ed hadn't at all anticipated. Hoenheim wept.

* * *

"Do you think that he's still alive in that other world, on the other side of the Gate?" 

"I don't know, Al. But, honestly, I doubt it. Things weren't looking so good over there when I left."

"Did you ever, you know...?"

"I forgave him finally, if that's what you mean. Despite everything. We talked. I can't very well go around burning all the bridges I need to cross, after all."

FINIS.


End file.
